


crash, then go straight ahead

by coraxes



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Dishonored: Death of the Outsider, F/M, Fluff and Angst, just barely not canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 01:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14415138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coraxes/pseuds/coraxes
Summary: "When Billie gets out of the carriage, she sees the dull glow of Daud’s cigar on the top deck of her ship. His body blends into the dark hulk of theWaleso that all she can see is that ember gleaming like a star and smoke curling into the sky.Dramatic asshole, Billie thinks."Billie's never expected forever. But she'll take what she can get.





	crash, then go straight ahead

When Billie gets out of the carriage, she sees the dull glow of Daud’s cigar on the top deck of her ship. His body blends into the dark hulk of the _Wale_ so that all she can see is that ember gleaming like a star and smoke curling into the sky.

 _Dramatic asshole,_ Billie thinks, and rolls her eyes. But she can’t quite stop a grin from pulling at her lips. She should be exhausted after spending weeks tracking down Daud and all night avoiding the guard and the Eyeless. She should be terrified at the idea of facing down the damned Outsider. As Meagan Foster she was both: worn thin with fear and anger, exhausted to the bone.

But something happened when she started being Billie Lurk again. She hasn’t felt tired since she picked up that old whaling blade. And as for fear—fear only comes if she gives a damn about what happens to her next.

Once Billie reaches the deck she says, “Get down here, old man. You need to clean up.” Her voice is quiet but carries easily through the still night, and Daud dissolves into view in front of her.

“I’m guessing you have questions,” he begins.

Billie snags the cigar from his fingers. “We can talk about your plan later. You’ve been stuck in a pit for weeks—let me take a look at you, at least.” She takes a long drag, eyebrow raised while he considers. At first Billie thinks he’s going to argue; Daud turns his scowl on her, something that age has only made more intimidating. But something in him relaxes and he shakes his head.

“Guess I don’t have a choice,” he says. “Lead on, then.”

Billie wonders what’s happened to him these last fifteen years. The Daud she knew then—well, he wouldn’t have put off looking after himself like this, for one thing.  He had done his job with eerie focus but never let himself be swallowed in it.  After a mission, the first thing he would do was tend to his blade, his wounds, or his people, depending on which was messier.  And for another, he never would have given in to her so easily. 

Maybe it’s because she’s not a subordinate anymore. _There’s_ a strange thought.

He still moves like he used to, though. There’s a slight stiffness to his walk but he avoids running into crates as she leads him belowdecks in the dark. Billie knows the path to the kitchen by memory and lights the lamps as she passes.

“The _Dreadful Wale_ ,” says Daud. If having him on her ship is bizarre, it’s nothing to hearing him say its name. How long will it take him to realize what it means? “What happened to it?”

“The engine gave out,” Billie says with a shrug. It seems oddly poetic; her farewell died, and she found him again. “Hull’s still strong, though. She’ll work as a base while we plan this job. Coat off,” Billie adds, turns on the kitchen lamp, and stubs out her stolen cigar.

Daud sheds his coat as Billie grabs the small stash of bandages and disinfectant from under the counter. It’s much better than anything she would have bothered to afford, but Hypatia was determined to leave her _something_ as a thank-you gift.

“Where are you hurt?” she asks, turning back. There are bruises blooming out from the edges of his undershirt, but he always used to heal quickly; those shouldn’t be a problem.  Billie still focuses on them, though, because it’s safer than comparing Daud as an old man to Daud as he was fifteen years ago.

…He hasn’t changed much in that department, actually. Billie doesn’t know how to feel about that, except to laugh at herself for being so predictable.

“Here’s the worst,” he says, and points at a nasty gash on his arm upper arm. It’s older, obviously partially healed, but there are broken stitches around the wound that should have been taken care of days ago. Billie tuts and starts plucking them out. She can feel Daud’s eyes boring into the side of her face. Used to be she’d pepper him with questions, but for now she enjoys the strange reversal of having him on her turf, in her care, and waits for him to ask. Finally he says, “What happened to you, Lurk?”

She snorts. “I should be asking you that.” Billie glances up in time to see Daud’s scowl deepen. “Shit, Daud, I don’t know. Did odd jobs for a while, saved up the money and bought this thing about ten years ago. Met Anton Sokolov, found out Delilah wasn’t as dead as I thought, carted the Empress around Karnaca for a few months, brought her back to Dunwall. Then I came here and found you.”

“Shit, Billie.” He chuckles and it turns into a cough; Billie pulls back as he doubles over, hacking, and when he straightens flecks of blood shine on his hand. Daud leans back, wipes the blood off on his dark trousers, and catches her look. “Don’t give me that. I’m not hurt. Just dying.”

 _Dramatic asshole,_ Billie thinks again, and rests a hand on the counter to keep steady. So that’s why he’s doing this. Daud wants to make his mark on the world, one last time. “What happened?”

“This.” He holds up his marked fist, clenches it so that power shines gold through the black tattoo. “Started a few years ago.  It was harder to reach for the Void, and then I realized it was hurting me to draw on it. It’s been getting worse.”

Having to fight for the Eyeless probably didn’t help, either.  Billie takes a deep breath and something crystallizes in her chest.  Finding Daud had given her a purpose; soon she’s going to lose that again. If she wasn’t in on his fucking ridiculous plan before, she is now.

Billie nods and gets back to work in silence. She finishes with the gash on his arm, bandages it, and starts to dab disinfectant on a nasty set of fingernail marks just below Daud’s collarbone. “Tomorrow we’ll go over the job,” she says, all business. “For now, you’re going to bed.”

“Do you _have_ one in all this?” he asks, jerking his head out at the mess.

“There’s a cot I can set up,” Billie says, and considers.

Billie knows the contours of regret. She’s been able to put most of hers behind her, but she has never been able to forget Daud, and this is part of the reason why. Most of Billie’s regrets are for things she did; betraying Daud, selling him out to Delilah, that was a big one. But she thinks part of the reason she’s never been able to shake the ghost of Daud from her head was because of what she _didn’t_ do. What she didn’t even let herself think of until years after she left Dunwall.

She’s tired of regrets. Whatever time she has left, she’s determined not to make more of them.

Billie looks up, meeting Daud’s eyes so that her offer can’t be taken as anything other than what it is. “There’s also mine,” she says.

His fingers close around her wrist as if to push her away, and then the grip relaxes, Daud’s fingers uncurling to spread over her own. “I’m dying, Billie,” he says with finality.

“I know,” she says. She’s going to die, too. They’re killing a _god_ —why should she survive that? Has Daud considered that, what it means for her to fall into step with him like the last fifteen years had never happened? “I don’t expect forever. But whatever you have, I’ll take it.” Billie’s chin jerks up, pride steeling her spine as she meets his narrowed eyes.

“Alright, then,” he says. Tension leaves his shoulders, and he squeezes her hand once before letting go. “Alright.”

The silence that follows should be awkward, but it feels like every other post-mission briefing, right down to Billie’s nervous awareness of his every move. She finishes up, grabs Daud’s hand, and drags him to her cabin. “Hope you feel honored,” she says. “This used to be Emily’s room.”

“ _Lurk._ ”

Billie turns, smirking at the exasperated fondness in his tone, and then there’s a big warm hand cupping her jaw and Daud is kissing her.

It’s so stupidly unexpected that all Billie can do is freeze. One hand instinctively reaches for her blade. Daud pulls back, eyebrow raised. “Alright, Billie?”

Shit. Billie feels her face warm. “Yeah.”

“This was your idea.”

“I _know,_ Daud,” she says, and pulls him back to her, gloved fingers sinking into his white hair. They’re almost the same height; it’s easy for her to back him into the door, rest her hand on his chest. She can’t remember the last time she was with a man. Everything feels unfamiliar and familiar at once, because it’s Daud and Billie can’t forget him even when she tries.

It makes sense, she thinks as his hand curls around her hip, just under her jacket. It makes sense that he’s going to be her last, after everything.

She doesn’t know how much time passes before Daud pulls back, coughing. Billie tries to give him space, but Daud’s hand on her tightens. “Bed?” she suggests.

Breathless, he nods, and Billie moves away to shrug off her gloves and leather jacket, leaves her pistol under the pillow and sword under the bed.

She knows they’ll probably just sleep tonight. She knows tomorrow they’ll be caught up in the job, and soon they’ll die doing it.

That’s okay. If this is how she goes, she’s had this. It’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never posted _Dishonored_ fic before, but DOTO broke me. I'm weak for complicated mentor relationships and casual touching. Thank you Arkane, this is probably not what you intended at all.
> 
> Comments and kudos are very welcome! Especially re: characterization. I'm also on tumblr @thiefofeddis if you'd like to yell about assassins.


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